


You are in love with him, aren't you?

by Castielee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Can Hear Longing, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Dean Winchester in Hell, Love Confessions, M/M, Memory Loss, Praying Dean Winchester, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielee/pseuds/Castielee
Summary: 13x23 // 14.01 throwback.AU!Michael tries to get to know his new vessel. Dean is trapped in his mind, trying to break free, but he can't until he relives his greatest hits over again. Willingly or not.





	You are in love with him, aren't you?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over the long summer hiatus, but forgot to post as well. Just found it while looking for some other documents. 
> 
> All kinds of feedback is truly appreciated.

Dean couldn’t remember why and how did he get here, but he was standing in a kitchen, with nostrils filled with the delicious smell of fried eggs and bacon. He couldn’t recognize where this kitchen was, but it seemed to be a very old one – it had an old industrial look, but Dean liked it here. It felt familiar and homely, though he wasn’t sure how a kitchen like this could ever make him feel comfortable. Maybe he was one of these strange men with strange taste? He didn’t know, actually.

He realized his hands were filling three small mugs with freshly brewed coffee, and without thinking, like some kind of reflex, he added some milk to one of them and milk with 5 spoons of sugar to the second one. He knew the third one was for himself, so he left it plain black. Dean then turned around to place the mugs on the table and realized there were four sits ready, not only three. Shouldn’t he get an extra one then? He opened the cupboard to find another mug, but his hand automatically grabbed a long glass instead.  “ _Orange juice_ ” popped into his mind at this, so he opened the fridge to find a box of said juice and placed it on the table along with the glass. He sighed and sat down, feeling his anxiety over the strangeness of this place go away. He still felt a little but unsure and did not like not remembering what this place was and how did he get here, but he couldn’t sense any danger around him either. Then Dean realized he never actually felt like this.

He was sort of… relaxed. And maybe even happy. Plain and simple. No stress, no nagging thoughts, no danger around, though he wasn’t sure where the threat should come from. Just happiness. He suspected it had something to do with the people he apparently was waiting for, so he tried to squeeze his brain in an effort to remember them.

He saw a tall man giving him a tired look, who then rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the computer screen; white background of some kind of news website reflected in his hazel eyes. The man was wearing a white-brown flannel and jeans, and had weird Jesus-looking hair.

Sammy. His brother. He remembered now that Sam liked his coffee with milk, no sugar. He also liked fried eggs, but would not touch the bacon, claiming he was watching out for his cholesterol, like some kind of health freak that he was.

Dean smiled to himself, sipping happily on his coffee. He looked at the door, patiently waiting for Sam and the two other people to arrive – the eggs were slowly turning cold. His gaze slid through the servings and stopped at the orange juice box.

Suddenly, he remembered a young, blonde boy standing just above him. It seemed the boy had just woken him up, because he felt a sting of danger rushing though his body, but it was fading just as quickly as it came. Dean sensed the presence of someone else behind the boy and knew it must be because of this person, but the more he tried to remember who this person was, the more his own brain rebelled against him.

It was a very bizarre feeling – knowing he knew someone, but couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Like all here memories were hidden behind a solid wall; he knew they were there, but he couldn’t tear the wall down.

“ _Interesting_ ”, said a strange voice in his head. No, it wasn’t coming from his head, it was echoing from all around him. Dean knew he should react to it somehow, he felt he should know what to do about it, but this knowledge seemed to be hidden behind that wall as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Scenario changed suddenly.

Dean wasn’t in the old industrial kitchen anymore, he was driving a car instead. His car, he remembered. Black 67’ Chevvy Impala. He could feel her – no, the car actually felt more like him, why did he keep calling it “her”? – vibrating under his hands, clasped tightly at the steering wheel. This time, he felt anxious and uneasy, but… relieved, too.

And there was a man sitting beside him. He was silent and looked straight ahead, watching the dark road in front of them, like he wasn’t feeling entirely comfortable in Dean’s presence. The man was wearing a simple dark blue sweater, which Dean thought looked ridiculous and out of place, but he couldn’t tell why. It was just a normal sweater, after all.

The man had raven black hair, a very straight nose and a strong jawline. His face felt extremely familiar, but not familiar enough at the same time. It was frustrating.

Dean wondered why did he feel uneasy and relieved at the same time. He felt the wall in his mind shrinking a little bit, like it was beginning to fade away, but still was too firm and too _real_ to get to the memories hidden behind it.

The man was looking at him with a pair of breathtaking blue eyes and Dean knew he should know these eyes, and he was sure he _did_. Was it the same man he was waiting for in the kitchen? The one who drinks coffee with milk and five spoons of sugar? Could it be him? It felt close, but… the man, who was looking at him now was somehow different from what he knew he should remember. Like it _was_ him, but not _quite_ him.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Save it. See, I don’t trust Angels, which means I don’t trust you_ ”, Dean said to a business-like looking woman in a grey suit standing in front of him. Oh, angels. He remembered he didn’t like them, but couldn’t remember why. It was starting to get on his nerves.  

“ _And yet you haven't warded this place against us. I know. You're hoping Castiel will return to you_.”, the woman answered calmly, but the words echoed in his mind like she shouted them right into his ear.

Castiel. It was an unusual name, and Dean felt it was important to him. Very important. It was this kind of name he was sure he was screaming in the middle of the night, when his mind was plagued with nightmares. He was sure this name meant his salvation, because the sense of calmness rushed though his veins the same second it left that woman’s mouth. At the same time, he felt a sting in his heart and wondered where did it come from. Why would someone named Castiel hurt him? Did they have a fight? Maybe he hurt him in the first place? Dean felt like it was something he would do.

The woman seemed to know it, or at least know what kind of relationship they have, but she seemed reluctant to explain. 

“ _Ohh, I see… It’s complicated_.”, said the voice in his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!_ ” another woman in suit shouted in his direction. She seemed much more angrier than the first one, she even seemed repelled by him. She obviously not only disliked him, but outright hated him.

All because of Castiel, who laid a hand on him. In Hell. She obviously blamed him for what happened to said Castiel.

Dean still had no recognition of who Castiel was, or that he has ever been to Hell, but he felt… kind of proud at the woman’s anger. Of course, he had not a slightest idea of why would that be, and it obviously caused a lot of problems, but somehow, he felt like Castiel being “corrupted” to the point of pissing these weirdly formal uniform people was a good thing. Dean felt good, satisfied even, that Castiel seemed to choose _him_ instead of them. Apparently, Castiel thought Dean was worth it, and Dean couldn’t help but be happy over someone finally choosing him over someone else.

He wasn’t used to it. Was it why _Castiel_ sounded so special to him?

 

“ _Hell?_ ”

The wall seemed to fade a little bit more.

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of burnt bodies was unbearable. It cut through Dean’s nostrils like a sharp knife, infected his lungs and paralyzed his brain. It seemed to be everywhere and it came from all around him. He looked down at his hand and froze – he was the one holding a burning torch right in front of someone’s face. The fire practically _melted_ their features, the skin was slowly peeling off revealing the skull behind it. Dean screamed at the sight of empty eye sockets and dropped the torch, but at the very same time he felt something piercing through his own skin. Dean hissed with pain and was sure he was bleeding. He turned around and saw the most terrifying and ugly face he never even could have imagined.

“Do not stop!” hissed the creature and threatened him with an old rusty hook and a lash. “Or you’ll get another one!”

Dean looked around. There was only darkness, fire and choking dust around him. No friendly face, only these creatures and screaming people. People being burned alive, getting whipped or cut into pieces. Dean’s stomach twisted when he suddenly realized he was the one causing all this pain.

Was this Hell? Was his punishment to punish other souls? What kind a horrible person was he to deserve such damnation?

“Come on pretty boy or you’ll get another ride!” said the demon and laughed gruesomely, poking his butt with a long, sharp knife. Dean felt panic rushing through his veins and turned around to look at the person in front of him.

It was a young man, maybe of his own age, though Dean could not remember how old he was. The man cried and screamed, watching the torch in Dean’s hand with such dread that the Winchester (oh, that was his last name!) started to worry about whether he was not quite too good at torturing. His own fear and panic creeped up on him and he hated himself for even considering melting this man’s face, but before he could make a decision, he felt the skin on his back practically crack.

The demon got inpatient and gave him a whip. And another one. And yet another one. With each whip Dean felt a part of his muscle detach from his body. He screamed after help but knew no one would come. No one ends in Hell without deserving it.

“Alright boys, he’s done for now… let him hang up there for a bit and we’ll see if he can do better next time!” yelled the demon and Dean felt the remaining pieces of his body being lifted and carried somewhere, but before he even could process where he’s being taken, another sharp object – probably the hook – pierced his skin and suddenly Dean was hanging in the air on his own collar bone. He screamed in agony and tried to lift himself a bit up, but he just got whipped again. Falling back lower he felt the collar bone break.

“Sammy, help me!”

“Ya brother is smart but not smart enough to come and get you. He ain’t coming boy, you’re going to stay with us forever!” the demon laughed and watched Dean with a gruesome satisfaction painted on its ugly face.

So Dean closed his eyes and prayed. He couldn’t remember if he ever did, but he prayed with his whole heart and the remaining pieces of his poor shattered soul. Tears rolled down on his face, and the hunter choked on the ashes swirling in the air, but he kept on praying. Maybe, someone will hear him at some point. He had the whole eternity.

 

The darkness lightened a bit, so he tightened his eyes even more.

_Angel of God, my Guardian dear._

The screams somehow sounded even louder.

_To Whom His love commits me here_

The light increased and he felt a rush of cool air coming from above his head. Was he dying?

_Ever this day be at my side_

Dean felt the wall in his mind crumbling. The memories threatened to spill, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember anything. He just wanted it to be over.

_  
To light and guard. To rule and guide._

Dean’s breath hitched in his lungs when he felt a hand on his cheek and an arm holding him steady around his arms. The pain disappeared. He suddenly felt calm, safe and very light, the fear disappeared completely and he suddenly could breathe again. The screams seemed to fade, as well as the smell and ashes.

_Amen._

Dean risked to open his eyes.

 

An ocean of unhuman blue overwhelmed him. Calmness washed over him, although he could feel power radiating from the being that currently held him in his arms. The air swished around him and Dean realized they were _flying_ – a set of beautiful, black wings lifted them both higher and higher away from the pit. Silky-looking feathers seemed to vibrate with power and… happiness.

“I heard you.” said the angel. His salvation. Dean blinked and realized he was still crying. “You will not remember me, but we will soon meet again.” His voice felt so familiar. Like home.

“Do not leave me” was the only thing the hunter could get out of himself, still choking back his own tears. He clinched desperately to the angel – he never wanted to feel this kind of pain ever again. To torture people. To fear.

“Never.”

 

The wall exploded.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean was standing in the Bunker’s kitchen again, but now he knew exactly where he was. He also knew he wasn’t here alone.

“You really are in love with him, aren’t you?” said Michael, standing in the door frame with an annoying smug expression plastered to his face. It showed nothing but evil satisfaction. It pissed Dean off.

“Get. OUT!”

“Uhm, no. I have such good plans, I just learned so much about you! Now I understand where all this pathetic self-loathing comes from… “ Michael smiled and begun walking towards Dean, who again felt trapped in his own head.

“You didn’t answer my question. You are in love with him, aren’t you? And don’t lie, I will eventually find out anyway, you know it.”.

Dean breathed deeply. Michael was right. There was no way he could escape this.

“Yes.” he answered.

 

 

 

He only wish his angel knew.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, it means you hopefully read the whole thing. 
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you.


End file.
